Top billing goes to Harold Budd, who was never exactly Beatles-tier when it came to this important thing called melody, and lo, he doesn’t offer any good ones. The long songs feel too long and the short ones feel too short.
But more at fault is Brian Eno. This is about when he starts making ambient music for the sake of making ambient music and stopped making ambient music with defined purposes; ie. music for places (Ambient 1: Music for Airports), music for imaginary films (Music for Films) (both those albums were probably uncoincidentally better). Here, he drenches the whole thing in so much reverb that you can swim in it; can a man get a rest in this biatch? No, no he cannot. And the few times when he decides to get busy on an instrument, he manages to send the thing straight to fuckville: the sinister clicking in the title track that accidentally turns it into a horror soundtrack, the whooping animal mating call throughout “Above Chiangmai,” the cheesy backing vocals of “Videotape” – sorry – “Not Yet Remembered.”